5 Romanov's Roulette
by Ezra Cross
Summary: REWRITTEN just a short little one-shot about teaching Thor the intricacies of Russian Roulette . . . . but when Steve finds out, he realizes the extent Clint Barton's trickery goes.


**So, this was once part of the "Moments" seies, but as stated, since I am aligning these stories to my new timeline, it is now a stand alone. enjoy!  
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Romanov's Roulette

Thor sat cross legged on the floor. His eyes twirled in his skull as he watched the shimmering metal spin and spin and spin. His head cocked sideways. And he waited.

Click.

Nothing.

The metal began spinning again.

He was thoroughly enthralled in this fantastic game of bravery and skill. To think these mortals would willingly put their lives in the hands of one another for no reason at all . . . It was fantastic! Just the game in which he would enjoy at the expense of his friend's good health! He could not wait to introduce this to Asgard.

The spinning stopped. The gun lifted. Click. Nothing. The gun went spinning again.

The sport was interrupted very suddenly by the hearty scream of Steve Rogers. The Captain rushed the table and grabbed the gun off of it.

"What is going on here?!" Steve exclaimed.

Natasha and Clint looked up. They were sitting across from each other in Tony and Banner's respective arm chairs with the glass coffee table between them. Both displayed equal disappointment when the revolver that they had previously been spinning was taken away.

"Hey, no fair! It was her turn!" Clint shouted. He folded his arms and to Natasha complained: "You're spinning again."

"Cap, give it up. That's my gun." Natasha ordered.

Steve's jaw dropped. "What? No! You two were just sitting here and trying to shoot each other's brains out!"

"It is a fantastic game!" Thor explained for them. He stood, all his regalia as the son of Odin suddenly showering through on his companions. His speech became verbose. His body taught with authority. "It is a game in which men must find their metal. They must dig into their souls and discover whether or not their hearts hold the power to stand firm even in the face of death. They must trust their hands, and not crumble when the trigger pulls, even should it mean their ultimate demise. This, this is no game. It is the challenge of a man's soul!"

There weren't many things in life that would cause Steve's jaw to drop. He'd seen a man rip his face off, exposing a red skull near flesh-less beneath. He'd met aliens, geniuses, spies, and killers. But in the end it was those words which caused his jaw to hit the floor. While he was distracted, Natasha reached up and retrieved her gun back. At Clint's direction she spun again and the following click against her temple produced no bullet. Natasha smugly handed it to Clint.

Thor, fully satisfied now in the intricacies of the game, gave a nodding approval to the results and with his cape flowing behind him he headed into the kitchen for a snack.

"What . . . just . . ." Steve said slowly.

Clint stood and placed Natasha's gun back in Steve's still open hand. Natasha got up as well and both followed Thor's lead to the kitchen. Steve turned slightly to watch them go. His hand ran across the old revolver. He'd used this style numerous times in the war, but this one felt lighter. Mostly likely modified by Natasha. Out of habit he checked the chamber, meaning to clear the one round they'd been playing Russian Roulette with. Then he realized something he hadn't ever considered.

There was no round in the gun.

Steve opened the fast loader and double checked the revolver to be sure he was right. Nothing. No bullets. The chamber was completely empty.

When Steve raised his head to look at the group of three, he saw only Clint's knowing face looking back at him. There was a hint of mystery behind his eyes, as if he'd sneaked the bullet out himself without informing Natasha. Then again, just as Steve noticed the weight was different, so she would have as well.

So Steve could only sit back, watching the members of team Avengers get together all the necessities of a plate full of s'mores, and wonder to himself about his own sanity.


End file.
